Come Towards
by Queen Edmund Pevensie
Summary: 2016 Advent Calendar. Merry Christmas! Chapter Four- Aravis sits in the snow during her first winter in Archenland. Lucy explains Christmas.
1. Snow

**Advent Week 1: Hope. Listen to someone who needs it the most.**

* * *

The first snow since they've come to Narnia. Peter looks up into the sky, the clouds gray, the sun struggling to peak through. A snowflake falls onto his cheek. He looks back ahead of him. He's been out all week, struggling to assure the Narnians that winter is important –a necessary and inevitable part of nature. The Witch isn't back and this winter isn't forever. Just another season. It will pass, in time, and the Narnians are prepared for winter, better prepared than they've ever been to weather a winter together. At Christmas, Peter hopes to restore their spirits fully. Now there's just too much apprehension. He met a lot of anxiety in Narnia today, a lot of apprehension, a lot of mistrust –because of the winter quickly approaching, because Peter is so young (barely fifteen, far too young to be a king), because Susan and Lucy and Edmund didn't come with him, because Edmund –still –is looked at as a harbinger of winter and he's sitting all warm and cozy in Cair Paravel without a care in the world.

Cair Paravel sits high and noble, shining, ahead of Peter and he lets out a sigh of relief. After a year, Cair Paravel is starting to feel like home, and he knows that his brother and sisters are inside, waiting for him to eat dinner. Something warm, Peter hopes, rubbing his frozen hands together wearily. Just a few more minutes until he's home with his siblings, until the troubles of a rapidly freezing Narnia disappear into hot chocolate and warm embraces that Cair has to offer him melt away.

By the time the castle gates close behind him, the snow is falling steadily, a thin layer already sprinkled over the frostbitten grass. He leave boot prints in the fine snow, and shakes snowflakes out of his hair once he's inside.

Before he even takes off his gloves, Lucy is upon him, her arms around his waist, her head against his chest, each day a little higher. She pulls back as suddenly as she came, staring up at Peter with her bright, blue eyes, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed. She is silent until Susan appears from around the corner, laughing slightly, reminding Lucy that they "can't very well stand in the entryway," with Edmund in tow, dragging his feet.

Lucy ignores her and waits for Susan to give Peter a hug. Once Susan has Peter by his (still very cold) hand to lead him into their private dining room, Lucy takes the other, swinging it back and forth. "Susan said that it's too early to decorate for Christmas," Lucy babbles. Peter makes eye contact with Susan. It's the same conversation that Lucy has had with their parents for years. "But I know it's not. The first snow. We can decorate for Christmas now, can't we, Peter?" Lucy is all but begging. Peter rolls his eyes.

"I'm afraid it _is_ too early, Lu, I'm sorry," he says, sitting down at the table. Lucy sits next to him without breaking eye contact. Susan and Edmund sit on the other side of the table. Susan smiles into her soup; Edmund scowls at his. "But we can get the biggest tree you've ever seen and put it in the great hall," Peter concedes. "And you can decorate the whole castle," he adds. He looks at Susan and Edmund across the table. "The Narnians are pretty worried about the winter, of course, but I think a very festive Christmas ought to do the trick," Peter suggests. "I was thinking about it on my way home, a party or something, to remind them that the winter will be over, one day."

Susan nods approvingly. "I think that's a lovely idea, Peter," she says.

The snow is falling more heavily now. Peter can see it out of the window behind her. The window overlooks the sea, as stormy and gray as the sky, the beach empty. He is warm now, confident, happy about his decision to help the Narnians, happy to be with his family.

Later Peter is walking along with Tumnus. He is just as anxious as every other Narnian that Peter has spoken to today, but he is trying to hide it. Tumnus is inviting them all to have tea with him someday soon, or at least to visit him for Christmas, and Peter is sharing with him his very early plans to have some sort of gala on Christmas for all Narnians to come to, if they like, when Tumnus stops suddenly and sighs. "He'll catch a cold standing out there in the snow," Tumnus tuts and shakes his horned head.

"Who?" Peter asks, turning to look where Tumnus is looking. He sees Edmund, standing on a balcony overlooking the sea, watching the snow coat the beach, staring at where the surf washes away the freshly fallen snow. Piles of snow are gathering on Edmund's shoulders, and his hair is shimmering in the dusk with snowflakes, melting slowly.

Peter turns back to Tumnus. "Would you excuse me, Mr. Tumnus," Peter says awkwardly.

Tumnus bows. "Of course, sire," he says with an equally as awkward bow. Peter waits until he can't hear Tumnus' hoofs clicking against the tile anymore to go outside to his brother, where Edmund is tracing patterns in the snow on the railing.

Peter clears his throat. Edmund doesn't look up from his drawings, but he stops running his fingers through the snow on the railing. Instead he buries his read fingers in his robes. Peter stands next to him, examining Edmund's drawings. Only squiggles.

"What are you doing out here?" Peter wonders, looking at the surf, at the patterns the sea is making in the snow where it meets the land.

"Thinking," Edmund grunts.

"You can think inside, you know," Peter tells him. Edmund shrugs, and the snow on his shoulder falls to the ground. Peter tries again. "You all right?"

"No," Edmund mumbles. "I hate to be cold." Peter fights a laugh to point out that Edmund doesn't have to be cold, at least in this instance. Edmund might be his kid brother, but he's perfectly rational and certainly is aware that the castle is much warmer. "I wish it wouldn't snow," Edmund continues. "It's easier to forget her when it's warm."

"The Witch?" Peter asks lightly. He spent a lot of time thinking about her today. It is much easier to forget all about her when the sun is shining and he's sweating buckets and all the flowers are blooming.

Edmund nods. "I know that it's just… _winter_ …but, every time I see the snow, I think that it's going to go on forever and ever, like _she_ wanted it to." Edmund shivers, but Peter doesn't think it's because of the cold. "I think she's kicked Aslan out again, that she'll _keep_ Aslan out again."

"Always winter, never Christmas," Peter whispers without thinking. Beside him, Edmund nods seriously.

"Always winter, never Christmas," he repeats.

Peter traces Edmund's patterns on the railing, clearing out the new snow that's fallen. Just scribbles. "Maybe…" Peter says thoughtfully. "Maybe it isn't too early to decorate for Christmas. I haven't quite got a handle on this Narnian calendar yet, but Christmas must be quite close. We might as well pick out a tree."

Edmund looks at Peter. He is trying very hard to look disinterested, but he can't hide the excited gleam from his eyes, or fight the corners of his mouth from looking something like a smile. "A big one, right?" Edmund asks. "Not some puny tree, but a great, big tree. As big as…" he gestures with his hands, "this balcony?"

Peter rolls his eyes. "I'll try my best," he says. "Let's go inside, Ed. It's freezing out here." Edmund nods, and follows Peter off of the balcony, back inside, where it's warm, where any thought of the Witch is driven out with Lucy, chattering to Susan down the hall about her plans for the holiday.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you all had a good Thanksgiving (or a good Thursday if you aren't American), and are looking forward to a great Advent and holiday season. I've been listening to Christmas music since November 1, and I am so ready! I'm going to do FOUR of these, little oneshots as an advent calendar kind of thing. I'll be posting (hopefully) on Sundays of Advent. They will definitely be winter themed, and probably Christmas themed! I hope you enjoy!**


	2. Rabadash

**Tell someone who annoys you something you appreciate about them.**

* * *

"Lucy, _really_ ," Susan sighs exasperatedly, quite suddenly. Though Susan turns her back on her dozing sister as soon as she calls her attention, she still caught Lucy jumping almost a foot in the air, shaking herself awake. Susan stands at the window once again, straining her eyes across the white scenery. Almost a foot of snow covers their courtyard. She _told_ the Calormenes that a trip to Narnia in the winter, while appreciated, might run the risk of getting stranded. It is still snowing, and she's doing her very best to avoid that prince, Rabadash, and has taken to "gala planning" with Lucy, but every time she thinks it's safe to go to bed, she hears one of her brothers pass by the door with Rabadash and his horde of flatterers.

Once, she heard Rabadash, his tone thick with sarcasm and fake politeness, trying to reason with Edmund, who was doing everything in his power to drive both Rabadash and Susan crazy. "Really, King Edmund," she heard Rabadash drawl, "I do appreciate the tour of your home, but I am certain you have taken me down this hallway four times already. And I've been here before, you know. Several times."

"Have you?" Edmund crooned back, interrupting his speech about suits of armor, which was mostly fiction, if Susan wasn't mistaken. "We get so many visitors. It must have slipped my mind."

"Sorry, Su," Lucy yawns, stretching. "I'm paying attention."

"I am sorry to keep you trapped in here, Lu," Susan says, turning back towards Lucy, leaning against the windowsill. The cold leaks in and it numbs her hands. "But we ought to have something planned for the Calormenes anyway."

"You're right," Lucy says. "I'm just tired."

It _is_ late, and for all Lucy's bravado she _is_ only thirteen, and doing the work of someone much, much older –a full time queen, out at the break of dawn training with the boys, and trapped in this drafty room "planning" a last minute "gala" with Susan. And all the normal queen things she did in between Susan avoiding boys and Edmund trying to wrestle with Lucy in the frostbitten grass.

"You can go to bed, Lu," Susan decides sitting at the table across from Lucy. "We've got a guest count, at least, and made seating arrangements. We don't really need to pick a color. Besides, I think Peter and Edmund have finally stopped giving Rabadash a fake tour of the castle."

"It has been almost a half hour since I've heard Edmund talk about your toe fungus," Lucy agrees. But she doesn't get up, like Susan expects her to. Instead she quirks a lopsided smile at Susan. "So…" she asks. "Are you going to _kiss_ Rabadash?"

"Eugh," Susan groans. Lucy giggles. "I'm not going to kiss him. Never. Not even if we marry."

"You really don't like him?"

"He's a pompous, self-satisfied flatterer, Lucy," Susan says. "I couldn't love _him._ "

"Oh, don't be so self-important, Susan," says Lucy, batting her eyelashes innocently. "You never know."

"Go to bed, Lucy," Susan sighs. Lucy laughs devilishly and pops up from her seat, leans over the table to give Susan a kiss, and leaves the room, her skirts swishing defiantly behind her.

* * *

The next evening, after some frazzled attempts at procuring enough food for Rabadash, all of his nobles and the entire Narnian court, Susan stands amid swirling skirts and the prancing music of the fauns as Peter accepts the humble thanks of one of Rabadash's nobles. Rabadash, seventeen and petulant, sits at his table, alone, leaning his chair against the wall behind his table, tracing the outline of a carving of Aslan's head in the stone absently, watching as his nobles line up for a turn to dance with Lucy.

Rabadash makes eye contact with Susan for a half of a startling second and looks away immediately, blushing. Susan sighs, irritably, and weaves her way through the crowd of Narnians and Calormenes (and a few unlucky Telmarines who happened to be in Narnia to negotiate lumber when the snow started) happy for a respite from the bitter cold of Narnian winters, to Rabadash.

"Having fun?" Susan asks him coldly.

Rabadash doesn't look at her. He props his boots onto the table instead, leaning even farther back in his chair and sneers at his toes. "Hardly," he grumbles. "Your brothers took me on the longest and most boring tour of this palace, if you can even call it that, last night. And now I'm here. Narnia is awfully cold, you know."

"I hadn't noticed."

"It's not cold where I'm from," Rabadash informs her. "It's warm."

"I've been," Susan says disinterestedly. "Do you mind horribly taking your feet off our table cloths? It's considered rude in many places."

Rabadash sneers again, but puts his feet down, looking at Susan at last. He returns to tracing the outline of Aslan. "This is a funny lion," he remarks. "They're everywhere. Does Narnia have a lion problem?"

"It's not a problem," Susan tells him. "That's Aslan."

"Oh," says Rabadash. "I've heard of him. I didn't realize he was a lion. I should have known…" he looks around the room contemptuously. "Considering."

Susan huffs and sits in the empty chair next to him. "You're being very rude," she says. "This is our home and we don't have to do any of this for you. I stayed up all night planning this when it became clear you wouldn't be able to go home like you planned, and this is the thanks I get." Rabadash's sneer turns into a half smirk. "And," she adds haughtily. "You didn't even compliment my dress."

Rabadash looks at her, blushing feverishly, but he replies "I can't see it with your arms crossed, can I?" coolly.

Susan smiles and stands up so Rabadash can examine her. He does so hungrily, and then, he leaps to his feet, enthusiastically, grabbing her left hand. "Queen Susan!" he exclaims. "You look exquisite!" Susan laughs airily and lets him kiss her hand. She can feel Lucy's eyes on her back. Let her stare! The charade of it is thrilling! "Would you like to dance?"

"I would, Prince Rabadash," Susan replies gently, and without another word she leads Rabadash into the center of the room, where all eyes immediately fix onto the pair. Lucy falls away a little, taking the boy she's dancing with aside to give Susan some room. "I must return the compliment, of course," Susan admits. "You, too, look…divine."

Rabadash wags his eyebrows. "Do I, indeed, Queen Susan?" he wonders. "And I was beginning to suspect this party was all an elaborate ruse in order to not spend any time alone with me."

"Oh," Susan says, blushing. "Well, I…must admit…" Rabadash smirks at her, but he says nothing.

The other dances fall back into the center. Susan and Rabadash fall into the fold. Under the cover of music, Rabadash looks her in the eye again. "Tell me more about this Aslan character," he presses.

"Oh," Susan gasps, taken aback. "Well, He's a Lion," she stammers.

"I've gathered," says Rabadash.

"And well, when we first came here, the whole country was like this –completely covered in snow," Susan recounts. "And Aslan wasn't here. He was…someplace else. I don't know. But–"

"When you first came here?" Rabadash interrupts. Susan is very aware of Rabadash's hand on her waist. "Where were you before?"

"Oh, well, it's a long story," she murmurs.

"We have nothing but time."

Susan tells him the story of how they came to Narnia, about England and the War, about the lamppost, about the White Witch, about Aslan –how he died, how he came back and killed the Witch.

She watches Rabadash careful as she tells him, barely moving except where he guides her, and when she finishes her story she stops completely, waiting for him to react. He doesn't, for a long time, and then, slowly, begins to sway again. "Do you believe me?" she presses.

"No," he decides. "It's ridiculous. You're mad." Rabadash smiles at her, joking. Susan sighs, relieved. "It's not the story I heard, though," he tells her. "My father, the Tisroc (May he live forever), says that whoever this Aslan character is, he brought you four in as puppets so he could rule as a worse tyrant than the…witch…" He laughs a little at the idea of a witch. "Or that King Peter is, at least."

"But you don't believe that?" Susan wonders.

"I don't believe anything," Rabadash asserts. "I believe that my father is the first Tisroc in a century to have any contact with Narnia, and, Tash forbid, my father dies, I hope to continue that relationship." Rabadash pauses poignantly, staring deeply into Susan's eyes.

"Am I part of that plan?" Susan asks.

"It's not my plan, of course," Rabadash says defensively. "It's the Tisroc's (May he live forever). Though…it's not a bad plan."

"It's not a good one," Susan says. "It's devious and ignores hundreds of years of contention between the two countries. Especially since in the short time we've been here your father has made it clear that he has no interest in being _friends_ with Narnia. He wants it for Calormen one way or another."

Rabadash shrugs and drops Susan's hands. He takes her by her waist instead and pulls her close. "We will have Narnia, eventually," he whispers in her ear. "This way is the best way."

"How's that?" Susan wonders derisively.

"Narnia remains independent from Calormen, though ruled by the same family," he explains simply. He spins Susan around and pulls her close against his chest so she's facing Lucy. "Do you see that fool dancing with your sister?" Susan nods. "That's my half-brother. His family rules territories as independent states within our Empire. One day he will become King –not governor –but _king_ of that territory. But, since he's the Tisroc's son, he'll be under my control."

"Unless the Tisroc lives forever," Susan reminds him.

Rabadash shrugs. "He won't live another ten years," he tells her. "And then…theoretically…our sons and grandsons will rule the Empire of Calormen and this small little snowy wasteland of Narnia, independently of each other."

Susan turns back around to face him. "Chilling, Your Highness, truly," Susan tells him icily. "And very devious, I must say so." She pulls away from him. "But you forgot one little thing."

"What's that?"

"You haven't formally made your intentions clear," she says.

"This was much nicer," Rabadash mutters.

Susan smiles. "Yes," she agrees. "But I must see whether you are worthy to stand against my brothers."

Rabadash smiles again, bows curtly. "Maybe when we're older, Your Majesty," he says, turning to leave.

Before he can return to his table to sulk some more, Susan grabs his hand. "You are a better man than your father, Rabadash," she tells him. "I believe that."

Rabadash pulls his hand away from her, his mood suddenly and inexplicably sour. "If you say so."

* * *

 **A/N: I honestly didn't do what I set out to do, and instead wrote a fic I've been meaning to write since I was 13. If you were wondering 1. YES ! I think Susan and Rabadash at least liked each other and while eventually Susan was talked into marriage because she thought it was to the benefit of Narnia, and Rabadash's main priority was making sure he could Take Over the World, they actually liked each other. They actually wanted to be together at some point. Maybe when they were sixteen, probably not ten years later when they're both real political powers in the world, but you know...puppy love.**

 **A/N2: Also...like, you probably don't care, but it's very important that you know that Edmund is doing exactly what Rabadash is doing at this impromptu event. Sulking. He has his boots up on a table and he is tracing a carving of Aslan in the wall, and if Susan catches him she will kill him. It has absolutely no bearing on the story at all, but it is Advent and I'm in a giving mood.**

 **A/N3: for all of you taking finals in the next couple of weeks, good luck! And Merry Christmas!**


	3. Mean

**Joy. Make a Personal Connection With Someone.**

* * *

As soon as Edmund sees Corin come racing down the hall, he turns on his heel, hoping to avoid the bubbly little monster he couldn't believe was related to King Lune. Whenever Edmund mentioned this to Lune, he laughed, and told Edmund that there was a time when he was a lot more like Corin than he cared to admit. Edmund couldn't imagine Lune as enthusiastic and forward as Corin, paying no mind to custom or manners. Susan, who adored Corin, sighed when Edmund complained of having to spend time with him. "He's _nine,_ Edmund," Susan said. "What do you expect?"

"I was king before I turned ten," Edmund pointed out, but Susan was ready for him.

"And need I remind you what you were like? Worse than Corin, that's for sure," she said decisively, and left the argument without a further word.

But on this occasion, with the Archenlanders only halfway through their month-long trip to Narnia to celebrate Susan's birthday, Edmund couldn't handle another minute of Corin's incessant question-asking, his unstoppable energy, his constant movement. So the second he sees Corin's blond head bobbing around the corner towards him, Edmund does his best to make himself scarce.

Corin is, unfortunately, incredibly perceptive. "King Edmund!" Corin exclaims when he sees him. "Edmund, wait up!" Edmund stops and waits for Corin's energetic steps to slow to a stop next to him. Panting, Corin looks up at Edmund. "What are you doing?" he wonders.

"Uh, well," Edmund stutters. "I have to meet with…well, very important people. I'm…I'm going to be late. So, if you'll excuse me…" he says, trying to sidestep Corin.

"I know you're lying to me, King Edmund," Corin says, stepping in Edmund's path, his hands on his hips. "Father has taught me all about liars _and_ he said that you're one of the best."

"Why would he say that?" Edmund wonders.

"Because I'm going to be king one day, you know," Corin reminds Edmund. "And I have to know about king stuff, like knowing liars." Edmund huffs irritably. "Do you know what else Father said about you?"

"I don't think I want to know, Prince Corin," Edmund tells him haughtily. He places his hands on Corin's shoulders and turns around until Corin is no longer blocking his path. "If he's telling you I'm a liar."

"Well," says Corin anyway. "He says that if I want to know about king stuff, I should ask you."

"Why don't you ask your father or my brother, the High King of Narnia?" Edmund suggests. "They're also kings, you know." Edmund turns away from Corin, hoping –though he should know better –that that would be the end of the conversation. He really wasn't lying on this occasion. He's late for a meeting with the governor of the Lone Islands, and he would hate to tell him that the reason he's late is because a nine-year-old boy held him up.

But Corin is just a step behind him. "Well," Corin continues. "Father says 'Corin, please…' when I ask him about king things, and he says I shouldn't bother King Peter, because he's very busy."

"Peter loves to be bothered, Corin, trust me," Edmund assures him distractedly.

"I know," Corin says. "He gives me great advice all the time, but Father says that you will 'show me the ropes,' or something."

Edmund stops in his tracks and Corin skids to a halt, surprised. "I'm going to have to have a word with your father, I think," Edmund grumbles. Corin just smiles cheekily up at him. "Very well," huffs Edmund. "Would you like to know where I'm heading?" Corin nods enthusiastically. "I have to meet with the governor of the Lone Islands about him not paying the tribute and still wanting us to position troops there."

"Can I come?" Corin asks.

"Can you be quiet for more than two minutes at a time?"

"I can try," Corin promises.

Edmund groans. "Fine!" he snaps. "But you mustn't say a word about what goes on in there to anyone, not even your father, do you understand. It's Narnia's business, and as much as I love your family, you are not Narnian. It is not Archenland's business. Do you understand, Prince Corin?" Corin nods earnestly, and follows Edmund down the hall to Edmund's study, where Governor Brurin is already seated, his back to the door, waiting for him. He is facing the window, staring out over Narnia's snowy landscape. Edmund's window faces west, and Lantern Waste fades into a gray smudge low clouds in the distance. When Brurin hears Edmund enter he stands up nervously, turning around to look at Edmund. He starts at the sight of Corin, but he bows respectfully.

Edmund waves Brurin to sit and takes a seat himself, behind his desk. Corin stands awkwardly beside him, shifting restlessly. "Forgive me, my lord," Edmund says respectfully. "I was held up by our young friend over here, Prince Corin of Archenland." Brurin nods in Corin's direction. "I have, somehow, been put in charge of his king-rearing, so, if it's all right, of course, he will be joining us."

"It's quite all right, Your Majesties," Brurin says respectfully. He looks a little frayed around the edges, Edmund notices vaguely.

"Prince Corin has promised his absolute confidence," Edmund reassures Brurin. "He will not say a word, not even to his father."

Brurin smiles weakly at Corin. "That is much appreciated, Your Highness," he says, addressing Corin. "The matter is sensitive," he adds, turning back to Edmund.

"Yes," Edmund agrees dryly, any hint of the reckless twenty-one-year-old gone. "Sensitive in that you haven't paid your tribute to King Peter in three years, and now you are asking for our protection?"

"Yes, sire," Brurin nods. "I am begging. I would not have come if the situation were not desperate."

Edmund stares at Brurin idly, trying to appear cold. He plays with the tip of a quill that's laying, dried out and frayed, on his desk. "Of course," Edmund hums. "Of course. My brother, High King Peter, believes you. He would have sent you all the protection and money you asked for at the first call, but as much as my heart aches for your people –who are, of course, _my people_ –I cannot take you on your word, and as I reminded King Peter, armies are not free. I wish they were, but we must feed and clothe them, at the very least, you understand, and _get_ them to the Lone Islands."

Brurin nods vigorously. "Yes, sire, yes," he agrees. "But the situation is desperate, we cannot go on like this for much longer. The people are in danger."

"So you say," says Edmund. "And yet, you say nothing more. I would have an easier time believing you if you had a shred of evidence, or, at the very least, a compelling story."

Brurin nods. "This islands, my Lord, are not as prosperous as they appear. The reason we have not paid our tribute is not because of disloyalty, my king, but because we cannot. We cannot afford to. Pirates have been ransacking out coasts for years, selling slaves quietly, sinking out ships or boarding them and taking their captains and their goods. We are…barely scraping by, my king. If we could pay, we would. But as it is…" Brurin's voice trails off and he looks towards Corin desperately. "There is nothing more we can do. We are Narnian. The people feel like they are Narnian. But they will not for much longer if Narnia does not come to our aid."

"Pirates," Edmund echoes absently. "Where from?"

"Calormen, mostly," Brurin answers quietly. "But, I've contacted the Tisroc, or I've tried to, but he won't speak to me. And all the nobles, all the ambassadors, everyone, says they know nothing about it."

"Clearly," Edmund grumbles dully. "No doubt even if the Tisroc was aware of what was happening he would tell you. He is a very clever man, and he does not like to get his hands dirty." Edmund humphs, standing up. Brurin starts and stands up, too. "This changes everything. I will speak to Peter immediately about sending troops to defend your coasts. You can speak to King Peter about where you are most vulnerable and what you most need. In the meantime, I will speak to the Tisroc at his earliest convenience about making sure his slavers don't venture quite as far north as the Lone Islands." Edmund's face has morphed into a nasty scowl, and he doesn't try to hide it. "Nasty business," he grumbles. He smooths his expression and attempts to smile at Brurin. "One last thing," Edmund says. "What kept you from coming to us in the first place? I do not want my people to suffer, wherever they are?" he asks.

Brurin looks at his boots, avoiding Edmund's piercing gaze. "For so long, your Majesty, Narnia and the Lone Islands were separate. The Witch...it wasn't winter on the Islands. She didn't care, except to demand the tribute. When you did not demand, we thought perhaps, you dissolved your ties to us. We did not want to bother the Crown, when they are so busy restoring peace to the mainland, with matters as common on the Islands and as trivial as pirates."

Edmund laughs humorlessly and sticks out his hand bluntly. Brurin shakes it, surprised. "Next time, come to us first. It is our duty to protect and serve Narnia and all Narnians, no matter where they live," Edmund tells him seriously. "Please, Governor Brurin, you may be on your way, and try to enjoy the rest of your time, here on the mainland." Brurin gives another curt bow towards Edmund and Corin, and turns, the tension leaving his shoulders as he walks.

Edmund sinks back into his chair as soon as Brurin leaves. Corin stares at him incredulously. Edmund looks at him, sharply. "What?" he snaps.

"You were mean to him," Corin murmurs.

"Yes," Edmund agrees disinterestedly. "I'm mean."

"Why?" Corin wonders. "I know why you're mean to me. Father says that I'm a nuisance. And I can tell when you're mean to Queen Susan or Queen Lucy or King Peter you don't mean it." Edmund raises an eyebrow at Corin. "But you're not mean."

"Corin…" Edmund sighs. "I am mean because Peter won't be. That's all you need to know. If I'm not mean, then sometimes, things won't get done. Peter would have made that conversation last an hour."

"But you're not mean," Corin repeats, still confused. "You're not."

"Why does it bother you?" Edmund wonders, leaning forward taking Corin by his hands. "I'm mean. You said sometimes I am mean to you. That doesn't seem to bother you. Why should this?"

"He was asking for your help," Corin says, his eyes watering. "He didn't do anything wrong, and he was asking for your help."

"And I gave it to him," Edmund reminds him. "Didn't I?"

Corin thinks about that, furrowing his blond brow intensely. It is several moments before he speaks again. "But…is Father mean? Besides to me, I mean."

Edmund cracks a smile. "However mean you're father is to you, Prince Corin, know that he is twice as mean to people who look to harm Archenland."

"Oh," Corin whispers, distraught, one tear rolling down his cheek. "Will I have to be mean?"

Edmund sighs. "Only once you learn to be serious," he says.

"You're serious," Corin points out.

"Yes," Edmund agrees, feeling much older than he is upon Corin's revelation. Corin wipes his face bashfully. "You mustn't worry about any of this now, Corin," Edmund says, suddenly struck by how young Corin was. How much it upset him that he might one day have to mean. "You don't have to be as mean or as serious as I am," Edmund says. "Peter says I am too mean, but I just don't like meetings." Corin laughs weakly. Edmund squeezes Corin's hands. "You will be a good king, Prince Corin," Edmund assures him. "You won't relish in _meanness_. But you won't stand for injustice. You will be just like your father, I expect."

"He's boring," Corin mutters. Edmund chuckles.

"Your father is one of the finest men I have ever met," Edmund promises. "And he is rarely as mean as I am."

"Promise?"

"Promise." Edmund gives Corin's hands another gentle squeeze and looks into his small face. He wasn't much older than Corin when he became king, when he was first allowed to be as mean and as cold as he wanted. And Corin, nine, crying. He looks like Peter with his blond hair and blue eyes, even if his face is as pointed and devilish as his father's. Afraid of being mean. Edmund doesn't think _he_ ever gave a second thought to it, he's sure Lune never had such reservations. "You will be an excellent king."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry this is a day late, I just finished finals on Friday, and I just was so uninspired. Hopefully next week's will be up in the middle of the day on Sunday, and then that will be the end, because it will be Christmas. Remember to be kind and open your hearts for Christmas. Also, I love a mean Edmund.**


	4. Tarkheena

**Peace. Respond to a request for help.**

* * *

Lucy sees Aravis, the young Tarkheena who arrived in Archenland with Prince Cor that summer, sitting idly in the snow. She is fourteen or fifteen, very pretty, and looks every bit a princess as Lucy could imagine, even now, with her skirts folded underneath her in two inches of snow, her face turned towards the sky, snowflakes falling in her dark eyelashes, sparkling in her dark hair. Aravis shakes them out of her hair a few times as Lucy makes her way over to her. Lucy kneels next to the Tarkheena in the snow. "My lady," Lucy whispers. "Are you not cold?"

Aravis starts a little, and looks at Lucy suspiciously. "Your Majesty," she says. She nods her head respectfully, but does not stand. Lucy sits next to her. "The cold I feel is negligible. I have never seen snow before. It is warm where I come from."

"Where is that you come from, Tarkheena?" Lucy wonders. Lucy loves Calormen, even Tashbaan. It is hot and crowded and beautiful there. There is music in the streets and vendors selling their wares with verve. In the south, there are lush, green forests, and golden beaches with rough, gritty sand and the smell of the ocean for miles. There are rivers that run north to south and west to east, and oases in the desert. The temples to Tash were grand expressions of faith.

"Rishtibaan," Aravis says dully, still staring at the sky. "In the south. Further south than Shasta."

"What's it like there?" Lucy asks.

"Warm," she sighs. "Green. Fruit grows on the trees all year long, the water in the lake is always warm. There are wide, open fields and a little ways off there's a wood, and the trees –they're not like this. They have broad leaves and thick bark."

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes," she admits. "My father and mother, and my brother. My friends. I miss the warmth. But I'm glad that I'm here." She sighs and reaches out her hands to catch a snowflake. "The snow…it's beautiful."

"Yes," sighs Lucy. "My home," she says. "Well, not my home…Narnia is my home…but where I'm from, Spare Oom, was cool and rainy, and when we left there was war. The streets were all paved and there were machines that spewed smog. But that's where my parents were. I miss them too."

"My mother and brother are dead," Aravis mumbles. "My father gave me a way to a man three times my age. I know he wanted what was best for me, a man in the Tisroc's (may he live forever) inner circle, but…" Aravis's voice trails off. She shakes her head. "I still miss him."

"That's normal," Lucy assures her, taking her hands. They're ice cold. "Here," Lucy says. "Archenland, it's a fresh start for you. It's a fresh start for everyone who has the courage to take it." Aravis nods. "Tomorrow is Christmas. In my land, Christmas is a celebration of birth. Of a fresh start."

"Who was born?" asks Aravis.

Lucy frowns. Every year the memories get more and more distant. The things they keep in Narnia, the wreaths and the decorated trees, the green and the red, Father Christmas, those she remembers better. She remembers squabbling with Susan, their last Christmas is Spare Oom, about whether Father Christmas was real or not. Edmund had told her he wasn't –he was a lie, to trust him because the older boys told him so –and Lucy, in tears tried to tell on him to Peter and Susan, when to her dismay, Peter and Susan both informed her that, while it was a rotten thing for Edmund to spoil Christmas for her, there was nothing they could do to make Father Christmas real. She remembers long, dull services, and a dress that was even more uncomfortable than usual, and a lot of songs about birth, a lot that she could remember only a few bars from. They remind her of Aslan, but she knows there was no Aslan in Spare Oom.

"Well," Lucy says slowly. "Someone they consider a savior there. I don't remember what he's called, but he was born on Christmas and when he grows up he saves the whole world. And anyway, there are winter celebrations throughout the whole world, at least where it's cold. The days start to get longer after Christmas. It starts to get warmer. The winter –it's almost over. That's what's important in Narnia, at any rate."

"We don't have those, where I'm from," Aravis says. "But I learned about them. When you get round to the other side of the winter, and you look forward to the spring so you can grow crops again. But where I'm from, we can grow all year round. So there are only winter celebrations in the North near the desert."

Lucy smiles. "When we came here, it was always winter, never Christmas."

"I heard the story."

"It never got round to Christmas, and the Narnians, for a long time, thought they never would see the spring or Aslan again," Lucy remembers. This she remembers well –the way Tumnus' voice dropped in despair when Lucy mentioned Christmas, when the Beavers saw Father Christmas for the first time in their lives. The light that radiates from Father Christmas every winter, melting snow in his path. "But when we came, Father Christmas came and Aslan wasn't far behind him."

"You brought Christmas back to Narnia?" Aravis asks, a little breathless.

"No," Lucy laughs. "Aslan brought Christmas back to Narnia. Aslan…he is Christmas. He comes to Narnia and summons Father Christmas and Father Christmas brings the spring. But the first Christmas, the Narnians needed to hope for spring, for the White Witch to be gone. They never had that before –not for a hundred years."

Aravis laughs softly and shakes her head, snowflakes dancing around her. "It all sounds a little fantastic to me," she mumbles.

Lucy smiles and pulls Aravis up by her hands. She looks her right in the eye. "It does to me, as well," Lucy assures her. "And yet, every winter we have a Christmas and winter has always been followed by a spring as long as I've been here." Lucy rubs Aravis' frozen hands between hers. "A fresh start."

"A fresh start," Aravis echoes. "A fresh start."

* * *

 **A/N: Week 4/4! This is a day late and I just wrote it right now, but I hope you enjoyed this, and I am thinking about doing one every year. I love Aravis and I don't know how to write her, but she's my fave. I'll probably be updating The Gentle, for those of you who are wondering, some time in January, also, if you happen to be waiting for that. Have a safe and merry Christmas and a happy New Year!  
**


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